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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302731">cliché</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ENHYPEN (Band), I-LAND (Korea TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A COUPLE OF BESTIES :3, Angst, Friends to Lovers, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Multi, Sorry :[, The very beginning, everything is fine, fluff!, friends to rivals to lovers to friends, hoonie does not pass go nor does he collect 200 dollars, it's all gonna be ok though :D, jakehoon r a couple, no it's not, poncey: this is so frustrating, repeat x3, socks as a plot device (don’t ask), sunghoon is dumb as a rock in this as far as feelings go, this is a fic i don't think hoonie's mom is this involved, u might hate me 4 a while</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:35:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302731</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>among coffee, puppies, survival shows, and a crippling fear of failure, sunghoon makes it. (at least, he thinks so.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Heeseung/Park Sunghoon, Park Jongseong | Jay &amp; Park Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon &amp; Shim Jaeyoon | Jake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cliché</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>oki doki first of all this looked so much longer in google docs D: so i'm rlly sorry that it's kinda short !!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the thing about having your life planned out for you is nobody accounts for a wrench being thrown into it. </p><p>sunghoon’s future had been decided for him when he was five or six, a clear checklist on red construction paper of what he needed to accomplish in order to pass go and collect the theoretical 200 dollars. he’d agreed, mostly because he was five and couldn’t read that well. plus, figure skating was fun and he was making lots of new friends in his classes. his mother had simply stuck the paper on the fridge with a little flower magnet and told him to get ready for practice as soon as he’d scribbled his name onto it, signing off. </p><p>it all went according to plan for a while. he grew into his mom’s old skates, outgrew some of his friends from practice, and passed the first three requirements on the list without a hitch. his mom got him a bouquet of flowers when he’d won his first championship, her sterile way of congratulating him the same way the strangers in the audience had.</p><p>his dad was rarely around, busy with work, and attended the last five minutes of a few programs, and even though he rarely had any idea of the technicalities that were involved, he was always there to offer a pat on the back. his mother was the only real constant, peering over his shoulder and advising him on every decision, helping him with choosing rinks and classes every time he'd outgrow one.</p><p>in 2017, he became the junior silver medalist of the asian figure skater trophy for the second time. he hung that medal right next to the other ones on the hooks in his room, gleaming in the yellowish light from his lamp. his dad called him ‘champ’ for the first time, like one of those sitcom dads who play catch with their kids in the front yard, who aren't always busy, his mother took him out for ice cream, and he had <em>fans</em> for the first time. people who he didn’t know, who he’d probably never know, who wanted to see him succeed just as much as he did.</p><p>he basked in the positive attention from coaches and choreographers for as long as he could, soaking it up and trying his best to improve in all areas possible. as long as his mom, coaches, and choreographers were happy, he was.</p><p> it only began to get draining in late 2018, when his previous coach retired and a new one was introduced. this new coach was unfamiliar and seemed to prefer that it stayed that way. he kept a passive, judgemental straight face no matter how many loops sunghoon completed, no matter how much effort he put in to be the pristine, elegant, absolutely untouchable skater that he had to be. </p><p>the near-constant stream of praise he’d been receiving dried up. he became more focused, determined to try bringing it back. with that resolve came his new best friend: perfectionism. he won three more medals in late 2018 and early 2019 and displayed them on the hooks. his mom didn’t take him out for ice cream. his dad only called him champ once more. his schedule had been reduced to practice, competitions, and school. he attempted to keep friends but could never dedicate any time to meeting them, so they grew apart. he was too anxious to text them in his spare time; their group chats had lain dormant for weeks. at this point he avoided texting them back because they'd be disappointed when they saw how long it had taken him.</p><p>it was mid 2019 when he told his mom that he no longer wanted to pursue skating. she cried (as expected, in the parking lot to the rink, but pulled herself together and redid her eyeliner in the rearview mirror). he cried, too (later, up in his room, for a few hours). the red piece of construction paper disappeared from the fridge the next morning and he tried to carry on.</p><p>it felt like he was being reintroduced to society at first. he felt guilty for having so much free time, constantly feeling out of place, like he should <em>be somewhere</em>, <em>doing something</em>. he slowly got back in touch with his friends and just got to be plain old sunghoon for a while, no matter how odd it felt.</p><p>friends taught him basic dance, and he found himself enjoying the studio more and more as weeks passed. somehow, he was coerced into signing up for auditions along with the friend group not long after. </p><p>he didn't tell his parents. </p><p> </p><p>// </p><p>by some miracle, he passed his audition, even though he’d been a bundle of nerves and looked like a deer in headlights the entire time. wide-eyed, staring pleadingly into the narrowed analytical eyes of the judges. apparently his pure desperation had been apparent to them, and he found an email in his spam folder a few days later telling him he was in.</p><p>he printed it out and stuck it on the fridge in the same place the red piece of paper with his life plan had been, using the same magnet, and went to school. he completely forgot about it until he got back home to his mom sitting at the dining table, waiting with the printed email in front of her. </p><p>after a lengthy lecture about responsibilities and how he couldn't just give up 'the one thing he was great at' so easily, his mom gave up and handed him the printed sheet of paper. </p><p>"go for it." </p><p>// </p><p>“hello,” the room of trainees bowed as one and greeted him in a bored monotone, then went back to their previous conversations. he waved and pursed his lips, hoping it looked more like a smile than a grimace. he wasn’t great with new people, but he liked to make friends, so he shuffled over to the boys at the end who looked about his age and just as lost. </p><p>they all turned to stare at him as he sat criss-cross applesauce on the cold, slightly damp wooden floor. . </p><p>“hi,” he managed, staring at the boy across from him. apparently his anxiety was telepathically communicated, as the other kid looked away and tapped the boy next to him on the shoulder. </p><p>“we should all go out later and get something to eat instead of the company food,” he suggested, then glanced back up at sunghoon, “you can come too, if you want.” </p><p>sunghoon had never felt more grateful. practice went by quickly, mostly because nobody was practicing-- sunghoon had gotten up and half-heartedly gone through an entire choreo routine before realizing everyone else was just standing around and still talking. </p><p>the boy who had pretty much saved him from feeling mortally embarrassed and out of place was named jay, he learned. he was still having trouble matching names to faces for the rest of them, though. </p><p>he wore a plain black hoodie and sweatpants to dinner, trying to fit in. maybe if he was lucky, he could blend into the background. he watched from the sidelines as the rest of them ate copious amounts of ramen (definitely straying from the assigned diet requirements that sunghoon had taken to heart and was following religiously). </p><p>jay managed to start small talk while the other boys were preoccupied with their own conversation about gaming. sunghoon had understood none of it, but eagerly nodded along anyway. </p><p>he and jay ended up talking all the way back to the company, giving him hope for a future ally among the dozens of hopeful trainees. </p><p>this might end up easier than he thought. </p><p>// </p><p>it ended up being harder than he thought.</p><p>he must’ve made it through auditions solely on a cocktail of adrenaline and desperation, because the judges here were far harsher. it was after a scathing review of a dance cover-- that sunghoon, personally, thought was amazing-- when they were sprawled out on the cool wooden floor that they received the best and worst news of their lives: the company was merging with bighit to produce a survival show, and <em>they</em> were the predicted stars. </p><p>that night, he disregarded the company diet for the first time and went out with jay for dinner at the same place they always did; a small convenience store down the street. jay seemed surprised when sunghoon asked for a bowl of ramen too, but proceeded to make it for him nonetheless, clapping him on the back and shoving the steaming bowl under his chin. </p><p>“listen,” jay started, uncharacteristically serious, even grim, “the whole survival show thing... i really don’t know how this is going to work out, but i just want you to know that we can be a team, you know?” sunghoon sadly slurped some of his ramen and hummed in agreement. “plus, you’d never make it on your own,” jay chuckled.</p><p>“i definitely could,” sunghoon defended himself, although unsure. none of the other trainees were that close to him, and he would feel awful about leaving jay behind, or vice versa. </p><p>“nope.” </p><p>“mhm!”</p><p>“no.”</p><p>sunghoon huffed in response and turned away, feigning anger. </p><p>“in all seriousness, though, you looked like you were about to cry when you first showed up to the company building. i don’t think you’d feel any better about being alone on a survival show after that. we've gotta stick together.” jay finished his dinner and got his wallet out, waving it around a bit, “d’you want a popsicle?” </p><p>“i was <em>nervous</em>!” sunghoon quieted, “and yes, please. strawberry.”</p><p>“great. i’ll throw your bowl away for you, too.” </p><p>//</p><p>they ended up walking back in silence and falling onto the cold leather couch in the main dorm room. jay, on-brand, immediately shoved his feet into sunghoon’s face and passed out. sunghoon tried to curl up into as small of a ball as possible, since he knew jay kicked in his sleep (news had spread from other disgruntled trainees after being roommates with him). </p><p>he stayed up until past one am, thinking and planning and thinking some more about the survival show. they were brutal when he used to watch them on tv; the thought that he would never make it to the end fluttered around in his head until he warded it away and thought about things that made him happy, like he always did before bed. </p><p>fresh snow, puppies, the color white, gaeul, shoes, lattes with little foamy shapes on top of them (he always asked for a heart or a puppy shape), fashion, and-- he glanced over at jay as he started snoring-- and maybe jay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>pretty pls leave a comment or kudos if u enjoyed this even a bit ;; they rlly help me w motivation knowing that ppl r reading it n enjoying it (n hopefully coming back :D)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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